


That's not you

by KaisaSegher



Series: Traitor [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Dorks in Love, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Mutual Pining, but not for too long, canon compliant until season 7
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-02-08 20:35:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18630799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaisaSegher/pseuds/KaisaSegher
Summary: Sequel to "Traitor". Set after the battle against the dead, with Sansa and Jon as Queen and King in the North, Arya struggles with her responsibilities as the new Lady of Winterfell. Or how to deal with life again when one had expected to die.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys! So I'd started this story long before I'd finished "Traitor" because Gendrya was the ship that brought me to ao3 in the first place but GoT wasn't giving me any material to write about them until Gendry and Jon met on the show. So of course now this is canon-divergent and all, but still...  
> I hope it's not too bad for my first story about them. Big hugs!

She took a long breath, squaring her shoulders before closing the distance that separated them.

He had come back changed. Somewhat leaner, his eyes darker, his hair thinner. But somehow he still annoyed her. He annoyed her very much. Especially when in spite of it all a flock of pretty girls seemed to surround him at every hour of the day.

It made her mad. It made her mad he was so stupid. It made her mad those girls were so stupid. Didn't they know there were more important matters to attend to than getting that stupid bull-headed boy under their skirts? There had been a war not long ago, people had died, the world had almost ended. And yet, surprisingly, the wheel kept on spinning as if nothing had ever happened.

People had buried their dead, healed their wounds as best as they could, redistributed the orphans and the elderly to be taken care of. A deep sadness still clung to everyone’s cloaks, and yet some pretty witty girl still found it in her to laugh elegantly at the blacksmith’s jokes. Or the blacksmith still found in him the will to tell said jokes.

No. Not just blacksmith anymore. He was the Lord of Storm’s End now.

_There will be a shortage of bastards in Westeros if Sansa keeps on signing those papers of hers so eagerly._

Arya was never good with family names and their members. But with King Robert, King Renly, King Stannis, all of Cersei’s spawn and Princess Shireen gone Gendry had become heir apparent to the Stormlands.

And that those pretty papers Sansa had signed weren’t made public just yet and still Gendry seemed to never be completely alone made Arya even madder.

She hated him. Hated him for only speaking to her when he had nothing better to do. When no one else seemed to be sparing him any attention. He was growing conceited and sometimes Arya even went as far as to think that they all swooned over him because, unfortunately, there weren’t many young men around. Gendry wasn’t even that handsome. Sure enough, he had broad shoulders, and girls seemed to like those, and bright blue eyes that Arya supposed were kind of nice, and was tall enough.

But he wasn’t _that_ handsome.

Or maybe it was because she felt terribly empty lately, though that thought in particular was too dark to dwell on.

Jon was back, his arm constantly around his wife's shoulders, a goofy adoring smile plastered on his face when he held his firstborn in his arms, an adorably fat little thing that even her had grown to love just as fiercely she imagined her lady mother might have loved all of her five children – Arya included. Well, it kind of helped the little girl was name after her, Arya supposed.

And she was happy for Sansa and Jon. She truly was. If someone really deserved to find some peace it was them. They had been through so much, both of them. They deserved to finally be left alone by fate. But there was a bitter feeling in Arya's tongue, as if it reminded her of everything she had lost or could never have. She would never be as pretty or gracious as Sansa, and people would never admire her strength and deftness just as much as they admired Jon's.

She had resigned herself to thinking that that life just wasn't for her. Or for Bran either, with his strange musings about the end of songs of ice and fire and the last dance of dragons and the sorts.

Most days she was fine with it.

This wasn't one of those.

When she had seen him standing between the frozen fountains of the Water Gardens she had felt the need to rush to him and hold him close just like she had done to Jon.

No. Not quite. Her brother's arms around her were nice enough, but just Gendry's warmth radiating from his clothes did funny things to her belly. Funny thinks she hated to think about but she was starting to suspect had nothing to do with disgust.

She was sure there was something terribly wrong with her. No one had ever truly loved her. Well, Jon had, but Jon was her brother. And lately she felt more like an afterthought on his and Sansa’s life. They had a small family of their own. They had no time for her. Not that she needed it, but it would have been nice to know they had.

No. Today she felt terribly…

_Inadequate._

As if everyone was about to find out she wasn’t good enough. That there was absolutely nothing special about her. She wasn’t particularly funny – she always had the feeling people laughed at her foolish dreams and not her jokes. She wasn’t that good of a fighter either. She let her emotions carry her away more often than not. And she wasn’t pretty, but that wasn’t new nor something she dearly desired.

Yet she was particularly terrible at leading. Sure, perhaps she could pretend she was good, like she had pretended to be someone else many times. She was a pretty good liar.

_They have to find out someday._

She was certain Jon had said what he had said with the best of intentions. He knew more about leading people than her, of course. But it had hurt all the same. Not because he had been cruel or anything. Nothing like that. His tone had remained calm all the while, reminding Arya so much of father.

_He is his son. Not some Targaryen long dead prince’s._

She always felt terrible when father scolded her, because he seldom did. And with Jon it was just the same. He simply had said she needed to be more careful with her words when she had called Lord Wull a thick-headed pig after he had questioned for the thousandth time Sansa’s legitimacy as Queen in the North with the Mad King's grandson by her side.

What did Jon expect? She wasn’t Sansa. She wasn’t soft spoken Eddard Stark, always too careful with his words around his bannermen. She should have never been Lady of Winterfell. She had wanted to, as a child, when she realised there were a whole bunch of Starks in front of her.

But she didn’t want it anymore. And certainly not this way.

“I hate this” she chewed, hopping on one of the smith’s work tables, thinking that perhaps she should have worn one of the pretty dresses Sansa had made her. He looked at her differently when she wore one of those, and she hated it.

And she was tired. So very tired. Sometimes she forgot how life was before she felt so exhausted all the time.

“No, you don’t” he corrected, his eyes – though half covered by his dark hair – still fixed on the steel of the sword in his hands, shining bright orange before it felt his hammer again and again.

It relaxed her, somehow. Hearing the steady clanking of metal against metal. He had made a thousand dragonglass weapons a lifetime ago, and she had sneaked into the forge more than once during the war just to hear that sound and forget death was upon them, even if it was just for a little while. To forget he - and many young men - would be gone anytime soon.

But he was back. And so was Jon. And so were many others, against all odds. And Arya supposed she ought to be grateful for that. That she ought to be happy.

And yet she didn't feel like it. Not at all.

“Yes, I do!” she almost spat, raising her boot to kick the back of his knee. “I hate this. My face hurts from so much polite smiling. I’m terrible at it! I don’t want it anymore. I wish Jon and Sansa produce some other babe soon enough so he can be heir to Winterfell instead.”

Gendry laughed.

“If it’s a boy he’ll be King in the North, not Lord of Winterfell” he corrected, leaving hammer and sword aside and taking off his gloves. Arya felt the need to kick him again.

She hated him. She hated him so much.

“Arya can be queen” Arya argued. “Sansa is queen and Bran is still alive. Asha Greyjoy is a queen. Girls can be queens too, now.”

“I’m surprised people still let girls lead after Daenerys and Cersei- Ouch!”

Arya interrupted him with another kick, but Gendry was quick enough to grab her ankle before she could lower it again. She tried to punch him instead, and hot anger boiled in her chest when he caught her fist instead.

She wasn’t focused. She was faster than him, she knew that. They had fought with their fists a couple of times in the courtyard and she had always won, even though he was stronger.

“Stop that” he demanded when she squirmed, trying to free herself, though a smile tugged at his lips.

“Let me go!” she screeched, her nails digging in the hand at her ankle as she waved her other arm in the air.

He freed her abruptly, and Arya lost her balance, her face hitting the dusty ground, her eyes mere inches from his boots.

Her mouth went dry, her breath escaping her lips in short puff.

This wasn’t like her. She wasn’t like this.

“Stop hitting me, then” he roared, putting some distance between them. “What is wrong with you?”

She chewed on her lip, tears threatening to run down her cheeks. But she wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She wasn’t weak. She wasn’t a silly little girl anymore.

Instead she stood up, resisting the urge to slap the hand he was offering her.

A blacksmith’s hand, covered in burns and scars. Strong and rough.

She hated it.

She hated him.

She hated herself. She hated feeling so weak.

“Are you alright?” he asked, and his eyes seemed concerned enough.

“What is wrong with _you_?” she repeated instead, focusing her attention on her breeches and doing her best to clean them. “You’re so full of yourself lately!”

Gendry shook his head, an annoying smirk in his also annoying face.

They used to be friends, a lifetime ago.

_I could be your family._

She’d been so foolish.

“ _I_ am full of myself, m’lady?” he scoffed with a scorning grin, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I am not your lady!” Arya cried out, catching herself just in time to avoid punching him again.

Gendry crossed his thick arms over his wide chest and rolled his eyes.

“Well, aren’t you the Lady of Winterfell now?” Gendry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, hot rage boiling in Arya’s veins. “Or is this another of those identity crisis of yours? Arry, Weasel-“

She tried to hit him, but he caught her fist again, and his eyes were wild, his nostrils flaring like those of a raging bull. A shiver run down her spine, her heart drumming in her chest.

“Nan…” he kept going, and she considered raising her knee to hit him between the legs. That would teach him something. And maybe it would prevent him from shoving his cock inside some empty-headed girl's smallclothes,

“Stop it!” Arya demanded, yanking her arm from his grip.

He was strong and fast. But she was more agile.

Well, she usually was. Today, apparently, not so much.

“Who are you, uh?“ he defied her, his arms caging her between him and his working table.

For a heartbeat she felt scared. He was much taller and stronger than her. If he wanted he could hurt her.

But he would never. She knew he wouldn’t.

Somehow. For some reason.

“I’m Arya, you fucking fatheaded-” she almost spat in his face, her hands on his chest, trying to push him away.

Good gods, how many hours did he spend on that forge anyway?

“I don’t think the Lady of Winterfell should talk like that, m’lady” he scolded, shaking his head.

He might as well have slapped her.

Tears prickled her eyes. It was almost as awful as Jon reminding her she had duties now.

She pushed him back again, and again.

“Stop it! Stop!” Another push, her vision clouded by tears, her roar half broken as her throat knotted itself. “I’m Arya, Gendry. Do you hear me?”

Was she telling this to him or to herself? Many moons… Many moons spent with the Faceless Men, forgetting who she was when she could never forget. She _would_ never forget father. She would never forget mother or Robb. She would never forget her brother, Jon Snow, faraway on the Wall. She would never forget Bran and Rickon.

Not even Sansa.

She was Arya Stark of Winterfell. Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn Stark’s daughter. No matter how many times they beat her she would never forget who she was. She couldn’t.

_But I’m not-_

“I’m not your lady, I will never be!” she screamed, shoving him back again. “I’m Arya. I never lied to you. Maybe I lied about my name, but I was always Arya to you.”

Arya gave him one last strong push, rage and shame boiling on equal parts in her chest. She hated him. She hated him, she hated him, she hated him!

Gendry tripped on his feet, yelping as he landed with his arse on the floor. She covered her mouth, realising she had gone too far.

As usual. She couldn’t control herself. She had tried all her life, ever since she had met Syrio Forel, and sometimes she succeeded. But not today. Today she was too distracted ‘with her troubles’.

She felt a tear running down her cheek, covering her mouth with both hands and ducking her head so he wouldn’t see her. She was so stupid. So stupid. They thought she was cold and uncaring when more often than not she got carried away by her emotions.

“Arya.”

No, she had to run away. Coming here had been a mistake. She had thought he would understand. Gendry, more than anybody else. She had believed…

No, she was just a stupid girl. More stupid than her sister had been once. Stupid for thinking that Gendry would still be her friend not in spite of her… Her unladylikeness. But because of it. That he liked her bluntness and honesty.

Even though many not so blunt or honest girls, much prettier and soft-spoken than her, surrounded him more often than not.

She had thought they could still be friends, like they were once. That nothing had changed.

 _You wouldn't be my family_.  _You'd be my lady._

“Arya” he sighed again, and a stronger, much larger hand than hers caught her wrist when she tried to run away from him.

“Let me go!” she cried out, yanking her arm, her fist hitting her chest. He wouldn’t see her cry. He couldn’t. He couldn’t see how weak she was.

He obeyed her. From the corner of her eyes she saw him curl his arms around his knees, letting his head fall.

It was her chance to run away and hide somewhere else.

She was terrible. She was terrible at absolutely everything. She needed to disappear. The world was a better place without her anyway.

“Arya, I’m sorry” he mumbled, and she stopped on her tracks. “Arya…”

She crushed her tears furiously, but something inside her broke. It took all her resolve to finally look at him.

Arya saw no mocking smirk then. Not even a disgusted sneer. She saw a frown on his forehead, half hidden for the thick black strands that had fell to his blue eyes. And something else too. Something that looked a lot like the regret she felt right now.

“I didn’t mean to- I was just-“ He stumbled upon his words. He was never good with those.

Gendry sighed, sliding slightly to the side as if he was offering a seat next to him on the floor. She let her shoulders fall and opened her hands, finally aware of her nails digging in her sweaty palms, and took the spot by his side.

“I know” she mumbled, playfully hitting his knee with hers. Maybe things could go back to what they once were, after all. At least in a way. “I’m just tired of all this, you know?”

And she realised she wasn’t mad at him anymore.

“Too much responsibility?” Gendry asked, his voice calm and low as he gently punched her arm.

She nodded, and before she noticed it she had curled her fingers around his, laying between them on the dirt. Or had it been him?

It didn't matter.

“I’m so stupid” he said, shaking his head. “We almost died. _I_ almost died! And yet-“

Arya curled her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest, his words heavy on her shoulders. Gendry was right. They had almost died. She still recalled how scared she’d felt, running through the crypts of Winterfell as Cersei’s armies marched upon them, regretting she wouldn’t be the one to kill her in the end. Her heart drumming in her chest all the while she had rushed everyone through the tortuous tunnels that led to the wolfswood.

Many had died.

But they had lived. She could feel Gendry’s heart beating fast against her cheek as his fingers carder through her hair, an arm around her shoulder too, reminding her of that remarkable feat.

They were alive.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things” he apologised, and she slightly raised her head so she could look at him. He gave her a weak smile, and her stomach flipped, for some reason. “You were right, Arya. You were always Arya to me. Even when my arse was freezing while we marched to the dead- Gods, I’m so stupid! I should have-“

She brushed her lips against his, before she could give it a second thought.

He was right. Both about being stupid and the fact they had almost died. But she was stupid too.

She parted from him, her pulse banging on her temples. Gendry rested his forehead against hers, his warm breath brushing against her lips. He chuckled, and she twisted her body until she was sitting on his lap, both her hands caressing his harsh beard as his fingers drew small circles on her hips.

“I should have done that a long time ago” he mumbled with a wide smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? What do you think?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just porn with no plot whatsoever. But there will be plot. C'mon. It's me.  
> Also, there's a reference to what Melissandre did to Gendry (as in without his consent), though not very explicit, but I'd like to give a heads up anyway.

“Aye, you should” she said, smiling too. “But then again you were never known for being clever.”

He caught her lower lip between his teeth with a chuckle, and she groaned, surprised.

Oh, but it felt so good, so good… His warm hands running up and down her back, the taut muscles of his arms flexing under her touch. She felt a strange tingling at the back of her head and a hot shiver shook her body when his strong fingers cupped her arse, pulling her closer to him.

Something twitched under her, her eyes blown wide when she parted from him, panting for air.

“Oh, fuck…” he breathed, his brow furrowed. “I’m… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-“

She covered his mouth with a finger instead, shutting him up.

“We almost died” she muttered.

Gendry nodded slowly. And she leaned forward again, capturing his lips just as her hands crawled under his shirt, her fingertips eagerly exploring each plane and valley of his body. And she would never admit it, but she rather liked that. She enjoyed looking at him well enough, but this was so much better.

He groaned into her kiss, his arms encasing her once more as if he needed to feel more of her. But she needed to feel more of him too.

More. More. More…

They had almost died. She had been stupid enough to waste time. Well, and so had he! What if he had died up North? What if he had never returned to her? What if she never knew what those surprisingly delicious and soft and moist lips of his tasted like? Or how warm his skin was, or how she liked the way his beard scratched her lips when they kissed?

“Arya…” he muttered, pushing her away, his strong hands on her waist. But there was an ache, deep within her. An ache that grew with every movement of her hips over his lap.

She had never thought she’d want that. Not really. There was never anyone, before. She was almost a child when the sight of him had first made funny things to her belly. But then they had parted ways and no one had caught her attention afterwards. At least not like that.

Not like _this_.

Arya caught his face between her hands, his heavy lidded eyes fixed on her mouth as he gulped thickly. She supposed he was handsome. In a way. And even though she saw his father’s features on his face Gendry was much more pleasant to look at than old fat King Robert.

She would never tell him that, though. He was too smug already. Too smug, with all those girls around him all the time. He didn't need another one.

Instead, she kissed him on the lips, and this time he slipped his tongue into her mouth. And to her surprise she didn’t feel disgusted, not in the slightest. It made her feel warm all over, it made the back of her head tingle. She pressed her body against his, her hands on his neck, pulling him closer. She needed him. She needed him so much.

They parted, gasping for air, and she heard Gendry’s low chuckle right before he started planting open-mouthed kisses on her neck, Arya letting his thick hair caress her fingers, the scent of sweat and smoke from a day’s work invading her nostrils. He had always smelt like this, ever since they had met. And somehow it felt reassuring. Gendry had been her only friend – her only family – for a long time. He was back. He was back and alive. She had kept him from her mind for years, but after he was back at Winterfell it was impossible to do so. And when he left for war she realised that for once, just this once, she understood Sansa’s longing looks over the mountains and her need to keep on sewing and knitting to keep her mind busy.

But he was back again. And alive. They both were.

And they would live.

Arya let her hands slide down Gendry’s neck, over his broad shoulders, over his hard chest, the strong thumping of his heart drumming against her fingers. She smiled to herself, still not believing this was finally happening. And yet it made sense. He could have any girl he wanted, and he had chosen her. After he had seen death he had chosen her, and she had chosen him.

She unlaced the cords of his shirt.

He froze.

Arya gulped, her mouth suddenly dry.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, letting her hands fall and looking at her lap.

He quickly grabbed both her hands, lacing their fingers together.

“No. No!” Gendry burst out, but his eyes dropped down just as fast. “I… The Red Woman, she- I don’t know what she did. She said she wanted my blood but-“

“Do you want to stop?” She raised his chin, forcing him to look her in the eye.

He didn’t need to tell her. Arya would have killed that woman, if she had had the chance. She had taken Gendry from her, and she had hurt him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin… This” he whispered, and his eyes were sad, his brow furrowed.

Hot rage boiled in her belly.

“You have nothing to feel sorry for, your hear me, Gendry?” Arya cupped his face, as if that would force that information into his thick skull. “It was her fault, not yours!”

Well, maybe she had brought Jon back from the dead and all, but Arya would kill her anyway. No one deserved that. Not Sansa, not Gendry. No one.

There was such sadness in his usually bright blue eyes. That was one of the things about him that usually annoyed her but now she was discovering she dearly missed. His usual cheery self. His wide smile. His way of making jokes out of everything in the darkest moments.

“I… Hmm…” he choked, looking down again. “I… Seven hells, we almost died and I ruined everything!”

“No! You hear me?” she yelled, covering her mouth instantly, realising they weren’t alone in the world and someone might hear them. Somehow he chuckled, and she felt the urge to kick him again. “You ruined nothing. Nothing is ruined! You’re here, I’m here. The dead are dead and we are alive. We might as well start acting like it.”

Gendry cupped her cheek, a weak smile on his face again.

“Yes, m’lady” he teased, and Arya slapped his shoulder.

But she wasn’t mad at him. Not really.

Not anymore, at least.

“Can I kiss you again?” she asked, her hands on her knees. She wouldn’t touch him – at least not like _that_ – unless he said so.

He licked his lips with a wicked grin, and now Arya really wanted to punch him again. And finally some light was back in his eyes.

All of them had suffered, during the long war. Many had tried to break them. They had tried to break Jon, Sansa, Bran, Gendry, her… Even Jaime Lannister, the Hound, Lady Brienne. And yet they were still there, stronger than ever.

_The pack survives._

They would move forward. The path behind was too dark to thread again.

“Whatever pleases m’lady” he agreed, leaning forward to catch her lower lips between his sharp teeth, a surprised groan rumbling in her throat before she could slap him for calling her that.

She curled her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and she felt warm again. Warmer than ever, after that terrible winter. And alive. Very much alive when his calloused hands climbed up her waist, gently stroking her sides.

Gendry leaned his forehead against hers, his short breaths mingling with hers, and they both giggled.

Arya gave him a strong push, making him fall back down as she stood up. This time she might be the one with the annoying smirk, judging by the puzzled look he gave her.

She looked around. The embers were starting to die down in the forge but still the room was too hot, sweat gathering at the back of her neck. And she chuckled, seeing the bar on the heavy door she had come through mere moments ago.

“What are you doing?” he almost screeched, leaning on his elbows as she made sure no one would interrupt them.

“Do you want this?” Arya asked instead, standing at his feet again, her fingers toying with the hem of her shirt as she chewed on her lip.

His eyes grew dark and he scoffed, looking at his crotch, then back at her.

“What do you think?” Gendry shrugged. “I look death in the eye and all I could think about was how much of a fool I’d been for not being brave enough to-“

“Let’s not wait any more time, then” she cut, throwing her shirt behind her back. She saw the way he swallowed, his eyes fixed on the scars at her waist long before her breasts caught his attention.

He was a stupid boy after all.

And yet it made her heart jump in her chest.

“Well, we all fought a war in our own way” Arya said, shrugging and leaning down to unlace her boots. She felt her face burn, but she was brave. She didn’t know fear. Not anymore. “Now take off your shirt. That is, if that’s what you want.”

He shook his head, as if trying to wake himself up from a dream, and she slid her breeches down her legs before she lost her nerve.

Gendry might be thinner than he was before the war. She had noticed his arms and his chest weren’t so wide, though she was too stubborn to admit, even to herself, that she sometimes liked to visit him in the smith just so she could watch him work shirtless while she chewed on some cheese she had stolen from the kitchens – behind Sansa’s back, of course. But Arya would never admit it. No. She wouldn’t.

But still, when he too threw his shirt over his head, she longed to touch him, just as much as she had longed for him all these moons. Well, maybe, if she was feeling particularly accurate, for years. Though not in the same way she yearned for him now.

He was still fighting with his breeches when she sat on his lap once more, her mouth attacking his as she run her hands up and down his naked chest, marvelling at the way the muscles of his belly rippled under her touch. His skin was a little sticky with sweat, but maybe hers was too, and she didn’t care. Not one bit.

Gendry’s lips left hers to focus on that spot her neck met her shoulder, his teeth scraping against her skin and making her moan in the most unladylike fashion. But Arya was a wolf, and not a lady. She had never wanted to be a lady. That wasn’t her. That would never be her.

His mouth continued its path down her body, setting her skin on fire, as his rough hands went from her knees to her thighs and up, up, up, cupping one of her small breasts – too small for his hand anyway.

She felt so small all the time.

But not right now. Not even one bit.

He closed his lips around one perky nipple, his hand still massaging the other breast. She tugged at his hair, bringing him even closer when his tongue started teasing it, her head thrown back as she groaned, certain she was now soaking his breeches.

So this was what the fuss was all about. It weren’t just silly girls dreams, too afraid of being alone the rest of their lives. It was actually… Good. Good, so good and still not enough, that warm and wet heat around the hard peak, his moans muffled by her breast as she true her head back, overwhelmed with the feeling.

Gendry stopped, too soon for her taste, forcing her eyes open as if her lady mother had just awaken her from a sweet dream. He lied back again, his strong hands on her hips this time, his cheeks pink and his sweet lips parted as he panted.

“Come here” he said, tugging at her waist, as if he was trying to pull her up.

She frowned.

“Gendry, I don’t know how many girls you’ve been with before-“

“I wasn’t keeping count” he interrupted, and now his ears were red too.

Arya crossed her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow.

“That many, uh?”

“No!” he shrieked. “Just a few. Well, a handful, I guess…”

She laughed, leaning down to give him a light peck on the lips. He was so silly. And sometimes it was almost too easy to tease him, even if just a bit.

“We’ll leave it at two, then” Arya decided.

“That’s still two more than those you’ve lain with” Gendry scoffed.

Arya felt her face burn, but found out she had nothing to counter that.

“Well, I never had a taste for girls, really” she tried to joke instead. “And it doesn’t matter anyway, but still I doubt what you were trying to do is the way to do it.”

“I want you to sit on my face” he blurted out.

Arya's heart stopped. She sat back again, her palms on his chest, shaking her head.

“What in the seven hells...?”

He was red all over now, his eyes averting hers.

“Well, Tormund said many girls enjoyed it” Gendry tried to explain.

Arya raised her eyebrows, shaking her head even harder.

Was he that stupid after all?

“And now you’re taking advice from him?”

“No. Gods! No!” he cried out, clutching both her hands. “But back then we thought we would die any moment and then your brother chewed something about your sister liking it – the  _Lord’s Kiss_ he calls it – and he said she-“

Arya snatched her hands from his grip and covered his mouth in a haste as she made a gagging sound.

“No. No, no, no. No!” she demanded, a shiver running down her spine, gagging dramatically again. Well, they had a daughter, hadn’t they? And Arya supposed they had had to produce said daughter somehow. But still… “Don’t make me think about those two and whatever nasty things- Gods almighty!”

She uncovered his mouth, running her hands down her hair, trying to shake the thought from her mind. Gendry’s fingers gently brushing against her thighs really helped, somehow.

“I’m sorry. It was just something I wanted to try” he whispered, his eyes following the path his fingers was tracing. “I just thought… I just thought you might like it, that’s all.”

She liked kissing him, so far. He was good at it – though she would never tell him that either, no. And she wanted… She needed… She needed something more. And now she was thinking about his tongue doing what he had done with her nipple to her cunt and a hot shudder shook her body.

“Fine” she mumbled, kneeling on the floor, his head between her legs.

Gendry took a long breath, placing feather-like kisses to the inside of her thigh. She felt her face burn. This was too… too… Too intimate, maybe. What if she smelt funny? What if her cunt was weird? She had seen some of those in her lifetime, but it wasn’t like she was an expert or anything.

Well, and neither was he. And he had been the one to ask for it, hadn’t he?

Gendry continued his slow path, as if he was truly enjoying it, kissing, and biting, and licking her skin, slowly, terribly slowly. As if they both hadn’t almost died not that long ago. As if he really need to savor it, so he sucked on her lips first. Arya chewed on her lower lip, feeling too self-conscious.

He groaned. That same groan he made when he stretched his back at the end of a long day of work.

“Are you this wet for me, Arya?” he asked, two of his fingers gently parting her folds.

She looked at the ceiling, her hands grasping the table in front of her as she bucked her hips against his touch.

She needed more. She needed so much more. And he was taking his damn sweet time, wasn’t he?

“So I’m not your lady – oh!”

He chuckled around her nub, flicking his tongue over it with just enough pressure to make her forget what she was saying. It should have been something clever and sarcastic. But her mind wasn’t functioning anymore.

“I thought you didn’t like me calling you m’lady” Gendry reminded her.

“Don’t stop!” she demanded, tugging at his hair once more. And this time he purred just before he closed his lips around that sweet spot again. “I could get used to it. It depends on the – Oh, Gendry! Oh, fuck!”

He slipped a finger easily inside of her, and then a second, pumping them in time with the strokes of his tongue. Arya’s nails dug on the table in front of her, and her teeth on her lip, trying to control herself. But it was worthless. Everyone in a mile would be able to hear her. Some lady she was, howling like a beast with a man’s tongue between her legs.

_Not just some beast. A wolf. I am a wolf, am I not?_

She felt a tightness on the back of her neck and a heat wave washing down her body. She was close. She was so close. Gods, and he was so good! Maybe she’d have to thank Tormund for his advice after all. Maybe-

Gendry stopped.

“Why did you stop?” she all but screeched, her eyes blown wide as she looked down on him.

Why did he always stopped when she didn't want him too? She would stab him for this. He deserved to die for this.

But instead of that smug look on his face she saw him frowning with his lips pursed together.

Gendry reached for her hand above his head and brought it to his lips, kissing the inside of her wrist.

“I’m sorry” he whispered, and she brushed the hair from his forehead, frowning to.

He couldn’t do this, could he? Too many painful memories after all. This was a mistake. She never should have agreed to this. She was the smart one, not him. She should have known better.

“I cannot wait much longer, Arya” he continued, looking her in the eye this time. “I’ve waited for so long, and you’re so beautiful, and you taste so good, and it’s you. It’s really you and I… I need you.”

Arya sighed in relief, her fingers stroking his beard as she leaned down to kiss him again. Oh, she was a fool. She was a fool all right. She could have been kissing him since he had been back from Dragonstone with Jon. And to think they could have shared a bed already a thousand times by now…

They were both stupid, after all.

She crawled down his body, her eyes never leaving his, and she caught his cock between her fingers, trying not to linger on the thought that it would never fit inside of her. It was hard, but warm and soft at the same time, and when she squeezed it Gendry moaned, his fingers digging on her hips.

It made her feel powerful. It made her feel like a god.

“Lead the way” she mumbled when their eyes met again.

“I think you’ve been doing a pretty good job so far” he countered with a smirk. But then it faded away, and he furrowed his brow. “Besides, I don’t want to hurt you, Arya.”

Her teeth sank on her lower lip as she took his cock inside her, trying to muffle her own moan. Slowly. Painfully slowly.

Except it wasn’t painful at all. It was odd, feeling him stretching her from the inside. Feeling so full.

“Arya” he panted, his thumb drawing circles on her waist. “Arya, look at me, please.”

She opened her eyes, letting herself sink over him a couple of inches more, a hot shiver running down her body.

_Oh, gods..._

He was thick, and hot, and too much.

“Arya, are you alright?” he asked again, and the concern on his dark eyes was so sincere it made her heart melt in her chest.

“You feel so good, Gendry” Arya whimpered, her nails grazing his belly. “You have no idea.”

He grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“And you feel so good too. Fuck, you feel too good, Arya!”

“Then move already, Gendry. We don’t have all day!” she demanded, thrusting her hips forward so she could feel some much needed friction.

“As m’lady commands.”

He snapped his hips up, and his cock hit some other sweet spot, making Arya release a litany of profanities that would make her older sister blush mingled with Gendry’s name. He had a beautiful name, she would give him that much. A beautiful name to moan with his cock buried deep inside her cunt, their hips moving against each other as she felt that familiar tightness again, sweat dripping down her back, her palms just as sticky as his now.

“Oh, yes!” she growled when he raised his knees, somehow improving their angle. “Just like that, Gendry, yes. Fuck!”

“Arya” he panted, his lips dry, his dark hair sticking to his forehead. Arya grazed her nails on his belly, groaning approvingly as he let his head fall back, his neck tense, his fingers bruising the not so tender skin on her waist. “I can’t- I… It’s too much, Arya, I can’t.”

She thrust even harder against him, leaning back on her palm, her other hand finding her nub and rubbing insistently. She was almost there again. She was almost there and it was so, so, so, so good, that heat low in her belly, the shivers running down her back, down her legs, and all the while Gendry’s heat all around her, his strong body under her, behind her, inside of her…

His breathing grew more and more ragged, his movements erratic, and she was so close. Just a heartbeat more, as she rubbed and rubbed, the wet noises and her own low moans filling her ears. Gendry’s mouth opened in a silent cry, and with one last thrust up he released his hot sticky seed inside of her.

But just the look on his face was enough to send Arya over the edge. It made her feel… It made her feel so powerful, that someone as plain as her could inspire such pleasure. His eyes heavy-lidded, short breaths still escaping his lips as his chest rose and feel almost too quickly. And then his fingers replacing hers, even though he looked as if he was dreaming still.

Her second peak washed over her just as fiercely as the first one, his name loud enough on her lips to be heard all the way from Sunspear to Castle Black.

She heaved, trying to calm her heartbeat. She realised her face was pressed against something hard, an equally unsteady drum beating against her cheek. A pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around her before she could feel cold. But in the forge it was never cold. She had been there many times, and she always felt warm. Too warm.

But right now it was perfect.

And though she still felt too weak her body shook with laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Gendry asked, his breathing still uneven, but an annoyed tone was still obvious on his voice.

“I never liked it when you called me ‘m’lady’, you know?” she said, though she couldn’t stop giggling.

He laughed too, his large hands rubbing up and down her back.

“I know.” And there it was, the annoying smirk on his face. But his eyes were so bright. So full of… of joy. It had been a long time since Arya had felt so light. Since she had actually enjoyed something, without giving it too much thought. “I called you m’lady to annoy you. But you know that.”

Outside she could hear footsteps now, maybe approaching. She peeled herself from him, even though it was almost too painful to bare. She searched for her breeches, throwing Gendry’s at him when she realised the ones she had fished from the floor were too big for her.

“Great, now I’ll think about fucking you every time you call me that.” She rolled her eyes, realising to late what she had just said. What kind of power she had just given him.

He laughed again, standing up to dress too.

“Well, then” he muttered, his hands on her hips as he pulled her to him, kissing her again. And again. And again. “You can ride me like that anytime. M’lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? Tell me what you think, please! I'm still super nervous about writing this two, they are just so popular... Anyway, I don't think Arya enjoys being called "m'lady" because she likes feeling superior to him, but because it's what specifically Gendry always calls her. I'm sorry if that's not very clear.


	3. Chapter 3

She all but threw the heavy door open, Sansa’s scolding eyes immediately on her. There her sister was, her nose buried in charts once more. War was over and still Sansa was obsessed with grain stocks and heads of cattle.

War had taken its toll, of course. There was no shortage of mouths to feed at Winterfell once more. Neither of orphans, popping from under the stones any day. Ser Davos was making a point out of taking each and every one of them under his wing, though he usually just shrugged on anyone asked him about it. But there was always a flock of small children falling his every step with all sorts of tiny wooden animals in their hands.

But those matters hadn’t brought Arya to her sister’s study.

“So where’s that rowdy beast I call my niece?”

She lifted the heavy curtains, trying to excerpt some sort of reaction from Sansa. But her sister was queen, and queens had more duties than ladies.

_I wish I wasn’t a lady._

Arya felt her face burn.

_M’lady._

She would punch him for it later.

“She’s not a beast!” Sansa shriek, lifting her eyes from her papers and clutching the quill tightly between her fingers, as if she was considering stabbing Arya on the eye with it. “She has a name.”

“A pretty one too.” Arya caught the babe in her arms, finally finding her on a small basket on a chair by her mother’s side. “Hello, you fat little thing!”

Little Arya seemed to smile at her. She was so big. Soon enough she’d be taller than Arya herself. She hoped her niece would honour her name and run around under everyone’s feet just like she had done back in the day.

“She’s not fat! Stop making fun of my daughter!” Sansa scolded, but Arya was already too busy admiring her little niece to hear the rest.

And she would be strong. And smart too. But as soon as she was old enough Arya would teach her how to shoot with a bow and arrow and how to ride a horse and how to steal sweets from the kitchen without anyone noticing.

“Maybe you and Jon should make some more of these” Arya jested, throwing the babe in the air – in spite of Sansa’s horrified expression – and catching her again and again, little Arya’s blue eyes blown wide in surprise.

Sansa laughed, finally setting aside her papers.

“And why is that?”

Arya propped her niece on her hip, sitting next to her sister and throwing an eye at the papers before her. Sansa was budgeting Winterfell’s reconstruction.

That should be Arya’s job.

She lowered her eyes. She was a terrible Lady of Winterfell. She would never get the hang of it.

“Arya?” Sansa called again, her hand playing with her daughter’s fingers, but her brow furrowed when she looked at her sister.

“Well, you seem to be quite good at it, judging by this one here.” She brushed Arya’s dark curls, realising she had never thought about having children. But she loved her niece just as if she had come out of her womb. Arya would slit the throat of whomever made little Arya cry without a second thought.

Sansa giggled, her face pink.

“It won’t be for lack of trying.”

Arya shuddered, sticking out her tongue.

“You guys are disgusting” she spat, resisting the urge to cover her ears. Sansa always felt more embarrassed talking about this matters than her anyway.

A dark shadow passed between them, little Arya’s tiny hands grabbing fistfuls of her aunt’s hair as she called for attention. Arya gently freed herself, pressing the babe’s fist against her mouth to sooth her.

“You were so scared that night” she mumbled, still recalling Sansa’s hair in a disarray when Arya had entered her chambers, tears running down her cheeks and her shift stained with blood. Sansa had survived so much, but that night Arya thought her heart would never recover from the blow.

Her sister took a long breath, and sunk the quill in the black ink once more, scribbling on her papers as if she wasn’t listening.

“I was scared too, you know?” Arya insisted, her hand on her sister’s thigh. They had never really discussed this. Everything had turned up just fine. But for almost two whole moons Sansa had mourned her lost child. And Arya with her. All the mad plans they had made on that night for passing an orphan babe as heir to the North… Then Sansa’s belly growing and growing until she could barely move, and little Arya’s first kicks. “I was scared for you.”

“I know” Sansa whispered, clutching her sister’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad you were there. And Gilly too.”

Arya’s heart sunk in her chest, and she held her niece tighter against her as the babe drifted to sleep.

“I miss her too” Arya sighed. Gilly had been a good friend. Someone to share her lack of knitting skills with. Someone blunt and honest, with no hidden layers behind the surface. “But she has the truth on her side, and we had only lies.”

They should be here, at Winterfell. Though Sam was now Lord of Horn Hill, his and Gilly’s place along with their children was here. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe their place wasn’t with people that had lied to them over and over and over again.

Sansa stretched out her arms, cradling her daughter. And if Arya squinted a bit she saw their lady mother singing lullabies to baby Rickon. But even though they were blue Sansa’s eyes were their father’s. The same look Ned had on his face when Arya asked him if she could be lord of a holdfast on the stone steps of the Red Keep. He had laughed and kissed her forehead, and said she would marry a high lord.

Well, she didn’t want to be lady of Winterfell now. But she still wasn’t the girl he had foreseen then.

Nor would she ever be.

“Go” Arya said, one hand on her sister’s elbow, the other behind her back, leading her hastily to the door.

“Arya, what-“

Sansa stopped on her tracks just around the table.

“I said go” Arya repeated, trying to push her, but Sansa wouldn’t budge. “You stubborn- Go Sansa, go. There’s a beautiful day outside, and you daughter could use some fresh air, and you and Jon deserve to be just her parents for once.”

Sansa shook her head, a deep frown on her face.

“But I need to answer cousin Robin…” Her voice failed her, as if she had just realised Arya was right.

Arya rolled her eyes, this time effectively moving her sister towards the exit.

“What about cousin Robin?”

“He asks for food from Winterfell.”

“Aye, you said it. Winterfell. Not the North. So my job, not yours. Have a good day, sister!”

She closed the door behind them, leaning against it for a little while as she heard nothing but silence and then Sansa’s soft footsteps slowly becoming quieter.

Arya contemplated the table before her.

This was her job. She was Lady of Winterfell now. Lady of a broken and half-burnt castle. Lady of hundreds of orphans, and hundreds widows, and hundreds cripples. Lady of hundreds of men who had lost their aim, with nothing to fight against anymore.

_We need to learn how to live when we don’t have to fight anymore._

Arya sat down first, choosing one of the scrolls before her.

Her stupid- Her cousin, Lord Robin Arryn, asked for more grain. Ever since the North had definitely left the Seven Kingdoms- No, not Seven Kingdoms anymore either. What were they calling them these days, with Dorne and the Iron Isles also independent and the Riverlands currently belonging to Sansa and therefore the North? The Four Kingdoms?

It was hard to accept the name, when there had been seven of them for so long.

Arya left her quill over the parchment, her chin on the back of her hand as she stared at the door, not really seeing it.

That reminded her they needed to appoint some new Lord to Riverrun. With uncle Edmure gone someone should actually rule the castle and its people.

No, that wasn’t her responsibility. That was Sansa’s, as queen. But it was difficult to separate one from the other when they all lived in the same castle.

_Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle._

Jon had been right. He was always right and it annoyed Arya.

And Bran… Bran was fortunate he didn’t have to deal with this nonsense. Maybe Arya should be the Three Eyed Raven instead. True, she knew how to take other people’s faces, but they needed to be dead for it. And she would rather her little brother was alive, no matter how… How odd he’d become.

Her cousin. Robin Arryn. He needed Winterfell to send grain to the Vale.

There was a huge black stain on her cousin’s letter now.

“Fuck” she muttered, trying to soak it with the sleeve of her dress – not exactly a proper lady’s dress, but since she was trying to be a lady, at least for today, she had decided to disguise herself as one.

Well, surely she hadn’t missed anything important from Robin’s letter.

He reminded Arya that his people had helped the North during the war and ever since the later had left the Four Kingdoms the North had kept a great part of the food stock stored during the winter. The rest of the Four Kingdoms were starving. The Vale with them.

“Send… Grain…” she scribbled on a small piece of parchment she was currently using to write down all her tasks so she wouldn’t forget any of them. “To the Vale.”

She scratched her chin with the tip of the quill, looking out the window this time.

The sun was shining again, and she could hear people shouting in the distance, and the wolves howling once more in the woods. She heard the familiar clanking of metal against metal, and wished she could be outside as well.

And what about Gendry? When he took his rightful place as Lord of Storm’s End as the legitimized son of Robert Baratheon, would he keep his hold in the Four Kingdoms or chose to join the North too? No, that sounded silly. The Stormlands had never had nothing to do with the North.

_Well, except that one time father and the Fat King fought together against the Mad King._

Maybe he’d make his land independent too.

No. The letters.

She picked the next one, wishing with all her heart this would be over soon and she would be able to go outside and at least practice a little against lady Brienne. Or even the Kingslayer. Any of them was good enough for her, as long as she was away from her dull duties.

And she realised that, even though her sister was quite good at this, she might hate it just as much. Surely Sansa might have wanted to be queen once. But not a real queen. She just wanted to be a king’s wife, as if that was the greatest reward a woman of her upbringing could aspire too.

She had married her king in the end, hadn’t she?

Her thoughts were drifting again.

Arya picked another letter from the pile, cursing every raven in Westeros. Specially her brother, for renouncing all his claims over his inheritance.

Bran was the smart one. He was free to do what he pleased since no one really understood what it meant to be… him.

But she felt tired. So very tired, her eyelids heavy as her eyes drifted over the sharp black letters asking for this and that. More men to patrol the Wolfswood. More gold to support those who couldn’t work anymore after the war. More timber to rebuild fishing ships. More. More. More. More.

Everybody wanted more from her. And she was just lady of a small portion of the North. She couldn’t imagine what her sister, _the_ queen, must have been going through.

There was a knock at the door, and Arya realised she would never finish her daily tasks today.

“M’lady” he greeted, with a wide grin on his stupid face.

She crumpled what she thought was her second attempt at replying to Lord Tyrion – current head of the Four Kingdoms until the next election – about his offering of sending some of Cersei’s crown jewels as payment for Winterfell’s rebuilding, and threw it at Gendry’s chest.

“Maybe I should go, then” he said, his hands protecting his face.

“No” she blurted out, her eyes open wide. “Sit down. You already interrupted me.”

Gendry rolled his eyes, but leaned against the table right next to her, his fingers toying with the edge of some parchment forgotten there.

Because she would forget it. She had no doubt about it.

“I haven’t seen you all day” he muttered, and his fingertips drifted to the back of her hand, gently tickling it. “I missed you.”

“I have work to do” Arya cut sharply, but before she could really think about it her fingers had curled around his.

She relaxed her shoulders, suddenly aware of the dull ache in her neck.

Maybe – just maybe – she could consider being honest with herself and stop pretending she didn’t enjoy his company.

“I just thought…” Gendry tried, nudging her elbow with his knee as he chuckled. “I’m Lord of Storm’s End, now. And… Well, you know, I don’t know the first thing about managing a castle.”

Arya laughed.

“You’ve come to the wrong Stark, I’m afraid.”

But the laughter died soon enough.

_I’m Lord of Storm’s End…_

He would have to leave, any day now. Winterfell was her home, not his. That he’d stayed for so long after Sansa had legitimized him was… Odd, to say the least.

“I know.” He chuckled. And he was holding her hand. And she was holding his too. “But at least you know more than me, and I’m afraid your sister will just spill a ton of information and I won’t understand a single thing. So I thought…. I thought that maybe we could learn. I mean, maybe we could learn _together_.”

“Fine.”

Gendry shook his head.

“Fine?”

“Yes. Fine” Arya repeated, shuffling her papers once more. “I think that might actually be a good idea. I was bored, you know?”

He tucked his hands between his knees, his eyes following her hands on the table.

“Well, the first thing you need to know about being a lord is that you’ll hate it” she said, feeling a little surer about herself now.

Gendry looked around and shook his head.

“Aye, living in a castle is terrible” he mocked. “It was much better when I was hungry most of the time and trying to survive at Flea Bottom.”

“It’s not that, stupid!” she yelled, resisting the urge to slap his arm. “It’s just that everyone needs to constantly whine to you about something. You’re right, living in a castle is great and all – well, at least Storm’s End isn’t in ruins like Winterfell, is it?”

“I wouldn’t know” he muttered, letting his shoulders fall.

She had gone too far again. Fuck, she really needed to learn how to control her tongue.

But finally she understood what he’d meant all those years ago about her being a lady, no matter what. While both her lady mother and lord father had been alive Arya had had far more than what many people could only dream about. She had warm clothes to cover herself with, a nice roof over her head, heavy furs to cover her bed, plenty of food to fill her belly… She had been a lady all her life, no matter how much she loathed it.

She was a lady now.

Arya stroked his arm, trying to encourage him.

“Then you have your second lesson: know your land. That’s how a bastard gets away with being named king – lord, in your case.”

Gendry smirked, and Arya let herself breathe again.

“And you? How did you get away with being named Lady of Winterfell?” he jested, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

The feel of his callous hands – not a lord’s hands, but a blacksmith’s – against her skin made her shiver.

She stood up, rearranging the farthest parchments as well. Though if she was being honest she was trying to hide her blush.

“I suppose it was because there was no one else. At least now I’m trying to look the part.” She gestured towards her dress. Gendry looked at her differently when she tried to dress like a proper lady.

“I like it better when you wear your breeches” he said.

Her fingers stopped in the air, her back stiff.

She had heard him wrong. She was sure she had. How could he…?

Arya blinked, her eyes finally on him once more.

_What?_

He was serious.

There was no trace of a mocking smile. Not even a slight curl of his lip. Nothing, but determination in his eyes.

He was serious and she pressed her lips against his in a haste, finally realising she had truly missed him. How many days had passed since that one time, because she was too scared to admit to herself that she really wanted him? That she took notice of when he wasn’t there with her? That her heart sank in her chest when she heard footsteps down the hall and it wasn’t him?

His fingers delved in her hair, gently stroking the back of her head and she hummed with satisfaction when her tongue found his. She grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, and closer, making sure he wouldn’t go away, wouldn’t disappear as if this was just one of her silly dreams.

Arya heard him chuckle when they parted for air, his strong hands catching her waist and spinning her around, his moist lips quickly finding the curve of her neck and making her warm all over. Gendry pressed his body against hers, dragging his palms down her thighs so he could pull her dress up, up, up… Her mouth was dry, her breath hitching her throat, and Arya closed her eyes, letting herself enjoy the feeling of his warmth surrounding her.

A low groan escaped his lips when her buttocks brushed against his erection, and Arya smiled to herself.

“Do you know what I like most about your breeches?” his voice sounded hoarse against her ear.

She gave a small whine when his fingers finally found her skin under the dress, right above the edge of her stockings.

“That I can really appreciate the perfect curve of your perky little arse.” It made her shudder against him, his fingers skimming over her thigh. She curled her arm around his neck, grabbing the fine hairs at the nape of his neck, her lips parted and her eyelids heavy.

Arya gulped, trying to find her voice.

“Do you think that’s the way you should talk to a lady?” she barely whispered.

Gendry chuckled against her skin, his short nails scraping her belly right above the hem of her smallclothes.

“That’s not you, remember?” he mumbled, gently sucking on her pulse point. Arya rolled her eyes, but her nails dug on his neck, her other hand catching his wrist as if she needed to urge him. “You said so yourself at least a thousand times by now.”

A calloused finger slid under the surely damp fabric of her smallclothes, and Arya bit her lip.

“And though a dress can be very practical-“Gendry stroked her between her folds and she released a loud moan, her hand on his wrist scrambling for purchase on the table instead. And there went all her day’s work. “I could have never done this this easily if you were wearing what you normally wear.”

Arya had a smart retort in her tongue. She really did. But with his fingers rubbing harder and harder against her nub, the wet noises filling her ears, she couldn’t remember what it was.

“In spite of it all I really like your breeches” he continued, his hot breath tickling her shoulder, his hard cock poking her hip through the fabric.

Arya swallowed, forcing her throat to finally form some coherent words. He was winning. He was winning and he couldn’t win. She was the one who always had the upper hand. Or at least she liked to think that was the way things were. When they fought, she won most of the times. He was stronger than her, but she was swifter, faster. If he caught her he could easily defeat her. But he seldom did.

“You do, uh?” she teased, rubbing her arse against him, making him groan. “You boys only think about one thing after all.”

He added more pressure to his fingers instead.

“Only if it’s about m’lady” he jested, his free hand on her waist to keep her in place, the other not stopping its sweet torture for a mere moment. “You look beautiful in a dress, don’t get me wrong. But that’s not you. That’s not the woman I like. The one who wouldn’t give a second thought about pushing someone much taller than her to the ground when he teased her. The one with her delicate sword. And breeches.”

She felt her cheeks burn.

Was this…? What did he mean by that?

Gods, she was spending too much time with Sansa! Or maybe it was her niece making her soft. This wasn’t like her. She had never dreamt about stupid boys. Never. Not even once. Not even-

_No. About him I did. I was just too thick to admit it._

“Stop” she muttered, but he didn’t hear her.

She was close. She was so close.

But she didn’t want it. Not like this.

“Stop, Gendry, please!” Arya shouted, jerking away from him – even though she didn’t really want too.

She turned around in his arms, her dress falling down to her ankles once more.

Gendry let his arms fall at his sides. His eyes were blown wide, his mouth agape as he searched her face for… Something. She cupped both his cheeks, smiling as she brushed her lips against his.

He was so stupid. So stupid sometimes and she… She really… He had been there, when no one else could. He had gone North, and she had longed for him every day. She had fled South, not knowing whether he was dead or alive, and she had worried about him every day. And then he had come back, thinner than ever, his eyes hollow, and she had cried for him. She had denied it with all her might, hiding under the furs at night, tossing and turning in bed as she thought about the missed opportunity. She realised she really… She truly… She truly cared for him very much.

She unlaced his breeches, resting her forehead against his and giving a small giggle. He chuckled too, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her until her knees were weak.

“I’m sorry if it was bad” he mumbled when she took a step back, raising her dress up to her waist so she could take off her smallclothes.

She laughed, giving a small kick to throw them away.

“It was good. It was really, really, really good.”

He smiled proudly.

“Take those off” she gestured towards his breeches before he could feel too smug about himself.

“Yes, m’lady.”

Fuck, he would ruin the title for her, wouldn’t he?

She turned around and leaned over the table, her skirts bunching at her back. And there went some other parchments to the floor. She’d have to sort those out later.

She felt or heard no movement behind her.

“Gendry?”

Nothing. Nothing.

Nothing but his heavy breathing.

Her heart raced in her chest.

“Gendry? Is everything all right?”

She heard a gulp then, and she looked over her shoulder.

His voice was hanging open in the silliest way possible. But instead of finding it stupid for some reason she found it… Endearing?

Fuck, she really needed to spend _less_ time with her older sister!

He nodded really slowly. Really, _really_ slowly, his eyes fixed on her.

“Then hurry” she demanded, reaching for his hand and pulling him forward. “I have work to do.”

His rough hands caressed her buttocks, and she felt warm all over.

“Arya, I… Gods, you’re beautiful!”

She chewed on her lip, and there it was. That feeling again. That strange feeling…

Arya reached between her legs, her fingers encircling his cock and bring it to her entrance. She heard Gendry’s sharp intake of breath.

“You’re very handsome too” she whispered, while her mind was still working. Once he was inside of her she knew it wouldn’t anymore. He was so hard, and thick, and warm. And she shuddered in anticipation. But still, she felt she should say something nice too.

Nice and truthful as well, for he was. He looked nothing like those silly boys every girl around her tended to swoon over when she was younger. Joffrey. Loras. Even the Kingslayer. All pompous little lordlings, too full of themselves, too afraid to dirty their shiny armours, their hands too soft and weak.

Gendry wasn’t like that. Sure, he might be a lord now, but that wasn’t him. The real Gendry. The one she… She liked so much.

He held her by the waist, slowly easing himself inside of her, both their low moans echoing through the study. If Sansa or Jon ever found out…

Arya smiled to herself, making a sound between a chuckle and a growl when Gendry started to pull back again.

“You really think that?” he asked, his fingers stroking her hip as the first hesitant thrust pushed her forward over the desk, her breasts squeezed between her weight and the hard surface.

“I do” she moaned, his cock somehow touching the right spot. “But don’t get too cocky about it. And don’t make me beg for you. Harder, Gendry.”

He gave a throaty laugh, his fingers digging even sharply on her tender flesh and making her growl louder as he snapped his hips back and forth, more papers flying from the table and even throwing the inkwell down, Arya catching it just in time before the ink could soak her sleeves.

“I guess…” Another mighty thrust, her cunt squeezing him hungrily. But she wanted more, more, more! So much more… “I guess that’s why… Fuck, you feel so good, Arya!”

“Ugh, you can’t even speak” she mocked, looking over her shoulder. His eyes were closed, his white teeth worrying his lower lip as he threw his head back.

“Shut up” he muttered, pushing her harder against him and then away again, a hand snaking around her hip to find that little bundle between her folds that would make her lose control.

She let her head fall, her cheek against the wood as she heaved, a tightness at the back of her head making her forget everything but his fingers, his cock, his muscular thighs meeting the back of hers with each snap of his hips, his strong hand squeezing her cheek with such might she would find bruises there tomorrow.

But she loved it. She loved every last bit of it.

“That was why you… Fuck! You sent me all those…” He roared again, and she felt his weight on her back, his hand releasing her arse and finding one of hers grasping the edge of the desk by her head, intertwining their fingers together. His heavy breathing ruffled the hairs that had covered her cheek. “Fuck, I’m so close! All those murderous looks. Fuck, please tell me this feels this wonderful for you too!”

She didn’t feel like pretending.

“It does” she muttered, turning around so she could kiss him. But her lips bumped awkwardly into his jaw instead, their strange position not allowing a proper kiss. Though the feel of his coarse beard against her skin was enjoyable enough. “You feel so good, Gendry. So good… Fuck! Oh, fuck!”

She shuddered violently under him, her cunt fluttering around his cock and her thighs shaking uncontrollably. She could swear she saw the stars then, swirling around her head, her vision foggy.

His roars replaced her own heartbeat in her ears, his hot breath somehow cooling the sweat on the back of her neck. And he never stopped rubbing her nub, harvesting every last wave of her peak out of her, her legs still shaking.

“So good” she whispered, still too weak to speak. To think. “So good… So, so good. So good we could turn this into a more regular thing.”

“Fuck, Arya!” he growled, his hot seed filling her cunt as he collapsed on top of her, crushing her.

It wasn’t that bad, though.

Her legs were numb, her breasts uncomfortably pressed between them both and the desk, her tongue so dry it clung to the roof of her mouth.

And still he wouldn’t move, his strong heart drumming her back.

But she didn’t care.

She would stay like that, at least until her own heartbeat and breathing returned to normal.

She would stay like that forever, if her hipbones weren’t so uncomfortably squished under their conjoined weight.

Arya wiggled, trying to find a more agreeable position.

“What did you just say?” he mumbled, peeling himself from her as if he had took that as his queue.

“Fuck, I guess?” She stood up too, using her discarded smallclothes to clean his seed from the inside of her thighs as he pulled his breeches back up. “I don’t know, I said a lot of things.”

He shook his head, looking at his feet.

“I’m sorry for your dress” he apologized, gesturing vaguely towards the stain right between her thighs.

She just shrugged.

“I’ll wash it.”

He chuckled, tugging his shirt under the waist of his breeches.

“You won’t. The Lady of Winterfell has dozens of servants to wash them for her.”

She laughed too, readjusting the neck of her dress.

“I will! I don’t want anyone to see it!” she shrieked, searching for some letter she could use to hide the stain until she reached her chambers.

He tucked a stray strand behind her ear and she closed her eyes, enjoying that tender gesture.

Just for a while. A little while when she could pretend his words had actually meant… Meant something.

“What did you say, Arya?” He waved his hand between them, a deep frown on his forehead. “About… About this. Whatever it is.”

_Yes. Whatever it is._

“About making it more regular? It was just a dumb idea, ignore it.”

She tried to shrug, as if it wasn’t that important.

But it was. Gods, it was. It actually meant something for her.

“I’m not… I’m not…” he babbled, as if he was trying to find his words. “I’m not seeing other girls. I haven’t. Not even once, after I returned to Winterfell. Well, the first time, I mean. Well, and the second too. And during the war.”

She didn’t say a word, but she almost laughed at his awkwardness.

“You know what I mean, Arya!” he shrieked, grabbing her shoulders. “I haven’t been with other women ever since I saw you again. I never stopped thinking about you since the day we met all those years ago, really, though it wasn’t the same. Seven hells, you know what I mean!”

Arya reached for his hands on her shoulders, giving him a gentle smile, her heart melting with each of his words.

That’s what she liked best about him. He was honest. Clumsy but honest. His words came from deep inside him, and not some very well thought elaborated speeches some men liked to whisper into women’s ears, thinking they were dumb enough to believe them.

Her thumbs caressed the backs of his hands before she pulled them to her lips.

“I don’t like the idea of you seeing other women, Gendry” she told him, even though it made her weak. She chuckled, trying to lift some of the weight of the moment. “I’m not seeing other men either. Not before nor after you. But I think you already know that.”

She stood on her tiptoes, her hands on his shoulders, and brushed her lips against his, as a way of showing him how serious her words were.

“Come to my chamber tonight” she mumbled against his lips, his hands stroking her waist and supporting her against him. “If that’s something you’d want. I have work to do today, I’m already too far behind schedule. But I don’t like the idea of having to wait another couple of days to be with you again.”

“That good, uh?” he taunted, catching her lower lip between her teeth playfully. She giggled, her fingers stroking his beard. She really liked his beard. She really liked a great deal of things about him, if she was honest. “I’d like that. As m’lady wishes.”

She shoved him back, but a smile was tugging at her lips. And at his too.

“Oh, stop that!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, I know! There's no plot whatsoever. I'll work on that! I'm aware Arya needs to do something besides Gendry (pun intended) but I'm still mad at D&D so I'll give this ship what they didn't a thousand times until my shipper heart feels satisfied.  
> As usual, thank you so much for your time, I'll try to answer your kind reviews asap (I'm a terrible human being, I know).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaand of course this will grow a plot. And of course something bad will happen, but not yet.  
> Also, what's Aragorn tax policy? I don't know, but I'll try to figure it out.

He was a maester. He had studied and studied, and worked and worked every day. He was smart, and good, and wise. And he might be a lord’s son and a lord’s grandson.

But Samwell Tarly wasn’t a lord.

He wasn’t very gifted with his words, nor was he a natural leader of men.

And neither was she.

Wildling, the southerners called her. Behind her back, they thought, but she knew.

She was trying to be a good lady. She really was. She tried to remember everything she had learnt from Arya and Sansa. She listened carefully to Lady Melessa’s advice. She watched Lady Talla intently and tried to copy her ways.

But Gilly was a wildling. It had been almost easy living in Winterfell in wartime by Sam’s side.

It wasn’t so easy being a lord’s wife.

It was really hard being a lady when everyday someone starved to death because Queen Daenerys had burnt all the food in the Reach.

They were trying. They were really trying. But wheat or barley took time to grow, and then their time to grind, and then their time to bake. There wasn’t an immediate solution to that problem on the horizon but they couldn’t just let people die before nature did its job.

Lord Tyrion was a good ruler. Fair and smart. But there was a war to pay, and wars were expensive. And houses to rebuild, and orphans to look after. And the economy of the land had been frozen for too long. They needed to make it spin again. But spinning required money too.

First, the council had tried lowering the taxes on the poor, just to realise that would bring even less money to the general chests. Raising them on the more fortunate seemed like a good idea, one Sam himself had proposed, even though that included her family.

“And how will you feed your people, then?” Gilly had pointed out, and soon enough the Tarly’s had joined the dozens of voices protesting against Lord Tyrion’s new tax policy.

And that half of Westeros was technically outside that problem didn’t help either.

_Trying is never enough, is it?_

“Maybe you should talk to the Queen and King in the North” lady Melessa proposed at supper, her spoon toying with her bland broth, as if she wasn’t certain she should eat it or not.

_At least we have broth._

Sam was fighting with Little Sam about the soup as well, more food on the boy’s cheeks than in his bowl.

Gilly’s heart thumped in her chest.

No. No, the wound was still open. It was too soon to discuss this. They weren’t kneelers. Sam wouldn’t beg. Gilly wouldn’t let him. She shouldn't let him. She was his wife. His _lady_ wife. And lady wives protected their husbands.

Sam closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring.

“I won’t.”

He shoved the spoon inside his son’s mouth and scooped another one.

“Our people are dying, Samwell” his mother insisted, this time squaring her shoulders and looking him straight in the eye. “Pride can only take you so far.”

Gilly closed her eyes and took a long breath. Talla was toying with the small piece of bread next to her cup, avoiding everyone's eyes.

“How can you say that?” Sam screeched, forgetting Little Sam’s food and leaving his mouth hanging open for a while. “She killed father. She killed Dickon. And they knew! They knew and said nothing, mother!”

“Sam!” Talla cried out, her hand on their mother’s elbow, tears threatening to spill down both their faces.

“Jon said nothing. Dickon was my brother, but so was Jon!” her husband continued, a fire burning in his eyes, his fists closed tight as he tried not to shake.

Gilly had to say something. She knew she had to. She had her own ideas on that matter. She knew what hunger and cold was. Sam had only known those things for a few moons while he was beyond the Wall, but not really. He didn’t know what it was like not having any food and not knowing when or if he would have it. His father might have sent him to the Wall, but Sam had been raised as a lord, with a lord’s privileges.

He was right. But he didn’t know.

“Your stubbornness will kill your people, Samwell” Lady Melessa insisted, but she gathered her skirts and stood up.

Gilly had seen her do that. A long time ago. Because of a different man.

_Men are not their fathers._

“You are the Warden of the South and Lord of Horn Hill. But you are my son, and it’s my duty to warn you when if I think you’re wrong. And I was Lady of Horn Hill for much longer than you have so far” Sam’s mother said, his tone calmer now. “These people are my people too. They were my people moons before you were born. They were my people while your father sent you to the Wall. They were my people while you were at the Citadel, and at Winterfell. I won’t let them die, even if I have to write to Queen Sansa or Lady Arya myself.”

The room was so silent Gilly could only hear her own breathing.

“My husband and my son died because of their beliefs. And though yours might be more just than theirs I won’t let you kill our people for them.”

And with that Lady Melessa left them to dine without her.

* * *

He curled his arms around her and she hid her face in his chest, her legs tangled in his. He was stronger again – maybe not like before – but that frailty of the first days after the war was gone for now. 

Well, maybe not truly gone. But there was food in his belly every time he was hungry. And there was plenty of work to do, so he could exercise often.

This, though… This - whatever it was - reminded her of another time. Another terrible time, for sure, but his presence had been one of the few bright things about it then. The cold nights sleeping under the stars, his back to hers and her back to his, as if that was enough to keep them from freezing. She realised she dreamt less about her brother Robb’s body attached to Grey Wind’s head when the smell of metal and coal surrounded her.

Her chambers were warm enough now, though, and she seldom saw the ghosts of the past anymore. Yet, his presence was comforting. She had kissed the salt on the curve of his neck and carded her fingers through his sweaty hair, her skin still clammy and her thighs still sticky. Because even though she tried to train every day, at least for a while, she had found herself exhausted after the both of them had finally decided they were done with each other.

For now…

But Gendry had his ghosts too. Ghosts he had seen at the end of the world. Ghosts surrounding him, almost choking him to death. Ghosts that woke him up and the middle of the night, shaking and covered in sweat. And Arya would hold him in her arms and mumble softly in his ear until he opened his eyes and his heart calmed for a while.

“Arya?”

His warm breath gently caressed the hairs covering her ear.

She smiled to herself, her nose nuzzling the hollow of his neck.

“Hmm…”

She didn’t have the strength to speak.

“Do you think anyone knows?” he muttered, just before he kissed her temple.

She wasn’t a romantic. She had never wished for those things.

No, that wasn’t her.

And yet it was good. It was good that she could share her time with him. That she laughed with him. That she could complain to him and he could at least try to understand.

He knew her. He really knew her. And a foolish part of Arya was starting to think he wasn’t with her in spite of her many quirks but _because_ of them. She wanted to believe that. She wanted to believe he liked the girl he had met years ago, and not the Lady of Winterfell. Well, Arya supposed she looked better now than she had when she was younger. No, not really. She looked the same. Except at some point she had stopped pretending she didn’t care and truly stopped caring. Her value didn’t rest on her looks alone.

And yet the way he looked at her…

Was that the way she looked at him too? She dearly hoped not, because it looked stupid.

But the silly smile on her face told her otherwise.

“Bran is the Three Eyed Raven. You told Jon a while ago. And Sansa knows everything.” She shrugged, her foot stroking his calf. At some point he would have to leave. Or not. He could stay. Who would care, really? If that ruined her reputation, the better for her. ”They’re just pretending they don’t.”

Gendry chuckled, and he raised her chin with his finger, kissing her lips and she sighed, curling her arms around his neck.

That wasn’t her. That was never her. She was a fighter, an assassin, a faceless man, a water-dancer, Arya Horseface.

But she wasn’t _that_ person.

She sucked on his lower lip, her breasts rubbing against his hard chest, his large hands tenderly caressing her back and making her feel warm and at peace. For once. Just this once. After everything, after the long storm, years and years of struggling and hiding, just this once she would breathe.

Breathe and let herself grow.

Because maybe she was that person too. She didn’t like dresses or songs, and she was good with her sword and swift with her feet. But maybe she liked kissing Gendry too. And enjoyed seeing him. And relished on that little leap her heart did in her chest when he smiled at her. Maybe it was fine to be both. Maybe _this_ – whatever it was – didn’t made her weak as she had always thought growing up. Didn’t make her stupid, like she thought Sansa was when she was younger. No, maybe it would make her stronger if she took the smart decision of being happy without questioning it.

She was happy enough as it was. With Gendry she was just happier. There was nothing stupid about choosing something she enjoyed, as she had all her life.

His breath fanned against her nose when they parted, his lips brushing against her forehead before he stiffened, his eyes still closed.

Arya frowned, twisting uncomfortably in his arms, her heart racing but not in a good way.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, cupping his cheeks.

He shook his head, his hands resting on her waist and pulling her back to him.

“No, Arya. You didn’t” he mumbled, kissing the inside of her wrist.

She brushed her thumbs against his cheekbones, trying to encourage him to tell her what the matter was. Something was wrong. Something was troubling him and she didn’t like it.

His throat bobbed.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

She froze.

What? What did he need to tell her? What was so terrible that made his fingers shake against her skin and had him gulping a thousand times, at least? Had some arrogant lord made fun of him? Because if that was the problem Arya would show him a thing or two. Mostly _Needle’s_ pointy end. Just showing, not really using it or anything. Or maybe he was leaving soon. He would eventually need to leave someday, wouldn’t he? Or maybe he was forfeiting his rights to the Stormlands and staying.

_Or maybe he’s tired of me._

She shook her head again, pushing that silly thought aside. He was in her bed because he wanted to.

“I'll understand if you get mad at me. I should have told you already.” He gulped again. And now Arya was scared. Really scared.

What if there was another woman?

No. No. That wasn’t him. A man like him could have any woman he wanted. If he just wanted a good fuck with a highborn lady he could have chosen a proper one instead of… Well, _her_ , Arya guessed. No, he was with her because he wanted to. She knew him that much.

Or did she?

“Just spit it out, Gendry!” she yelled, too frightened to endure the waiting.

He let her go and looked at the ceiling instead, covering his face with his arm. She propped herself on her elbow, looking at him intently.

“I know who my mother is – well, was” he blurted out, flinching as if he thought she would slap him. “Cersei Lannister.”

Arya closed her mouth.

She could hear Gendry panting.

Cersei Lannister.

How…?

Her elbow hurt.

But he wasn’t even blond or anything.

He was Gendry.

One of the logs in the fire fell down, crackling softly as it burned brighter.

He had a kind heart. And gentle. He was the gentlest person she knew. Well, there was Ser Davos, but still.

She scratched her forehead, biting her lip.

He was Gendry.

“I’m sorry.” The words came out before she could think about them, and her hand found his on the mattress.

But she didn’t know what she was really sorry for. That a monster had birthed him? That his mother was dead? That they had lied to him? That he had found out? That Arya had vowed to kill her? That the Kingslayer was his only surviving family? That he had been the one to kill Gendry’s mother?

“I know you hated her, and with very good reason. You had a list and all” he tried to jest, but it sounded hollow. But he clutched her hand tightly, as if it was his anchor.

“You were afraid I’d hate you too” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “Seven hells, Gendry, you're so stupid sometimes!"

"I am" he agreed, still avoiding her eyes.

"Aye, you are! Why would I hate you? Gendry, you’re not her, you know? Just like you’re not your drunk brute of a father – I’m sorry, that’s what he always looked like to me.”

He chuckled, finally uncovering his eyes and looking at her. They were red and glistening, but his cheeks were dry. She smiled at him, leaning down to kiss him.

Gendry’s arms encircled her, pulling her on top of him, his tongue delving into her mouth.

Maybe he didn’t have to leave her bed. Ever.

“I’m assuming you don’t hate me, then?” he asked, when she raised herself on her palms, straddling him.

The grin on his face made her smile too.

“Gods, you’re really stupid!” Arya crossed her arms over her chest. But she wasn’t mad at him. Not one bit. “I don’t hate Jon, and his grandfather killed half our family! Why would I hate you?”

“Good. Because I love you.”

Gendry’s cheeks slowly fell down, his eyebrows raising gradually on his forehead, his teeth disappearing behind his lips.

Well, she didn’t hate him. How could she, really?

_I love you._

_I. Love. You._

There was no one else in that room with them. There wasn't another 'you'. They hadn’t drunk anything.

_Good._

_I love you._

Arya closed her mouth, her jaw hurting.

“What?” she shrieked, blinking fast as if she was trying really hard to wake up.

And she had thought the Cersei bit was shocking...

Gendry shook his head, a sad smile on his face as he covered his face once more.

“Just… Forget I said that” he groaned, twisting in bed to free himself from her thighs.

“No. no!” She grabbed both his wrists, catching his attention. There was something funny in her chest. Something she once would have found stupid but right now she couldn’t. “Did you mean it?”

He tried to chase his words, his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. Arya almost laughed. Almost.

This wasn’t something to laugh about. Not really.

“I… I, hmm…” he babbled, avoiding her eyes and staring at her chest instead. As if that would fix it. Arya rolled her eyes. “I guess? I mean, I don’t know when it started. I guess I love you. I don’t like being away from you for too long, I feel this warm thing in my chest when we’re together... So I guess that’s love. I don't know, how would I?”

He… Guessed?

Well, she didn’t like being away from him either. And there were warm things in her chest too when they were together. But that didn’t mean-

“I guess” she repeated, avoiding his gaze too.

“It doesn’t matter. I spoke without thinking” he cut sharply, his fingers intertwining with hers as he pulled her down to his chest. “I don’t want anything to change, Arya. Just forget I said what I said.”

She dearly wished she could.

Arya let him cuddle her, her ear against his pounding heart, her throat dry.

Was it true? Was it true that he loved her?

And why?

Why did he love her, if he did?

_He’s in my bed now, isn’t he? And it’s not like he doesn’t have a queue of other girls wanting to find out what’s inside his breeches._

Arya smiled to herself. She had found out, hadn’t she?

“It’s not something I can forget Gendry” she whispered, her hand running up and down his chest, trying to soothe him. “Maybe I don’t want to.”

He said nothing.

And she couldn’t find the right words to answer to his.

“So you’re the rightful heir of what’s left of the Seven Kingdoms.” She tried a different approach. “I’ll have to start calling you ‘your grace’ then.”

Gendry chuckled, and before she could – or wanted to – protest he had her pinned down between his weight and the mattress.

“I’m not a real king, whereas you are a real lady, m'lady” he corrected, between pecks to her lips with a wide grin.

“That’s not fair!” she squealed when he started to tickle her ribs, holding her wrists with just one hand above her head. Arya hooked a leg on his waist and successfully turned them over, freeing herself from his grip. “I am _your_ lady and you are _your_ grace. It’s like you own everything!”

She laughed at her own joke. Gendry didn’t.

Instead he pursed his lips together, but his eyes were soft and determined.

He sat up, tucking her hair behind her ear, and she closed her eyes, enjoying the moment.

_I guess…_

She guessed, she guessed many things too. Things she had never dreamt about before.

Except she had. She had, a thousand times, and a thousand years ago.

_I could be your family._

“I don’t own you. Nor do I want to” he said, his fingers toying with hers again. There was a half-smile on his face. “You’re a wild little thing-“

“I’m not little!” she interrupted, even though the moment was somewhat solemn. Even if her tits were mere inches from his face. Or his cock was hard again between her thighs.

“You’re not that tall either!” Gendry argued, shrugging. “Anyway, you’re you, Arya. And you're yours, and no one else’s.”

“Does that bother you?”

He sighed, bringing her fingers to his lips.

And Arya didn’t just guess anymore. She was almost certain. Almost, but an almost was hardly enough to let her say the words.

“No. I admire you for it.”

She leaned forward, kissing his lips before her heart burst.

He was stupid. He stumbled in his words all the time. And yet, he still managed to say exactly what she had wanted to hear all her life.

“Lay back” she asked, her palms on his chest, over his fast beating heart.

She wanted him. Again, and again, and again. Until she couldn’t walk. She wanted him so much it hurt.

“Aye, m’lady” he teased, his hands on her hips as he slipped inside of her once more. “You’re not mine, but you’re still m’lady. And I’m here to fulfil my lady’s wishes.”

She rolled her eyes, either because he was being annoying or because he felt so good inside of her.

“Oh, shut up and fuck me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Insulin, anyone???


	5. Chapter 5

“I suppose you were the smartest of us all, in the end” Arya said, wheeling her brother across the courtyard. She had decided to supervise the reconstruction of the library tower herself today.

She supposed her people needed to see her doing… Well, something.

“Sometimes I think you forget I can see everything” Bran said, with a shrug.

“Aye, I know, I know.” She rolled her eyes, and then she gave what she hoped could pass as a sincere smile to some lady. Wynafryd, the woman was called. But was she lady Flint? Lady Norrey? Arya didn’t remember hating that woman in particular. She had a stern face but seemed pretty straightforward. But did Arya hate her? She couldn’t remember.

She shrugged too. That probably meant she didn’t, so that was good enough for now.

“But still, Sansa is queen and Jon her king. I’m a lady-“

“ _The_ Lady of Winterfell” Bran corrected.

Arya rolled her eyes again.

“Well, all the while you are free to do what you want” she mumbled, standing at her brother’s side instead while they admired the construction.

A few men and women busied themselves on the scaffolding, passing large blocks of stone and beams between them, sweat covering the backs of their shirts. The new tower wouldn’t be as magnificent as the old one, but this wasn’t a time for luxury. It was a time for rebuilding, stone by stone, while keep people’s bellies fed.

Arya had known hunger, for a short while. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what starving must feel like.

She raised her head towards the sun, towards the heights the old tower had reached. She remembered her little brother, climbing and climbing behind mother’s back. Her heart clenched. He would climb no longer, not ever.

And the _Kingslayer_ lived between them. As if he was one of them. As if he was their friend.

“I should kill him” Arya whispered, realising too late she had said it out loud.

Bran searched for her hand, and she held it tightly. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t! Why had they been punished like this? Sure enough, they had won the war and were all alive – that was more than many people could say. And yet…

She saw the ghosts. The ghosts dancing around them. She saw Jory and Ser Rodrik. She saw Septa Mordane and Old Nan. She saw Hodor and Mikken. She saw Rickon hiding behind mother’s skirt. She saw Robb teaching Bran how to shoot an arrow.

Father, smiling knowingly at her when she hit the target with her arrow.

She had no more tears left to cry.

“You should not” Bran said, and he was the Three Eyed Raven again. “If it wasn’t for him we would all be dead right now.”

Arya shook her head violently, staring wide-eyed at her younger brother.

“Because he warned us about Cersei? That doesn’t excuse-“

“Do you think those dragons killed each other because they wanted to? Two children from the same mother. Do you really think that, Arya?”

Seven hells, she hated when he did this. When he spoke in riddles. When he made everyone around him – including Sansa – feel stupid.

“They did not. It took them some… persuasion, to say the least. It was difficult, but it would have never been possible if Jaime Lannister hadn’t thrown me from that tower.”

“Now that’s just silly, Bran! I can’t believe you’re saying we should be thankful to him!”

A dozen heads turned towards them, and Arya realised too late she had shouted the words for everyone around them to hear.

“Hush” he urged her, and he was her brother again, taking her hand in his. “I’m just saying you shouldn’t kill him, that’s all. Besides, Gendry will need him.”

Arya crossed her arms over her chest and bit her lip.

She saw Ser Davos on the farthest corner of the courtyard, a flock of younglings surrounding him as he showed them how to tie some knots. And for the blink of an eye Arya smiled. There had been a war, there had been death and tears. But step by step everyone was doing their best to continue forward. The road behind was too dark. Ahead, maybe, just maybe, might be hope yet.

“Did you knew?” she mumbled, frowning as she looked at the new tower once more.

“I did. And so did Sansa and Jon. Lord Tyrion and Ser Davos too.”

Her nails dug on the palms of her hands, her throat dry. Hot rage boiled in her chest, and she kicked a small stone in front of her before she could hurt anyone.

“And no one felt the need to tell me, did you? No, as always, you mighty chosen ones keep to yourselves and leave the ordinary people out of it” she spat, taking the handles of Bran’s chair and wheeling him inside again. She needed to cry out all her anger, but she wouldn’t do it here. She had learnt that much so far, at least.

“I think being lady of Winterfell while also being capable of becoming no one can hardly be described as ‘ordinary’, Arya” Bran argued. “Also, it was not our secret to tell, not to you, at least. He loves you, he deserved to be the one to tell you when he was ready.”

_He loves you._

“I can’t believe this” she muttered through gritted teeth.

“You weren’t mad at him” Bran argued, his hands firmly clasped over his lap, his voice empty again.

She froze.

Her fists clutched the handles of his chair tighter, her blood roaring in her hears as everything around her dissolved like fog.

“You had no right… You can’t just do that!” Arya cried out.

“Arya!” A ghost roared right behind her.

Father was dead. She could still see his face rolling down the steps of the Sept of Baelor. She could, except she never had.

But father was dead. Father had been dead for a while.

And though their voices sounded completely different it was the way he’d said it. That soft disappointment in his tone. So unlike mother’s. So unlike Sansa’s.

“You lied to me!” she growled again, leaving Bran in the threshold and yanking herself free from Jon’s grip. “You all lied to me! _He_ lied to me!”

But no. That’s wasn’t the worst betrayal, though Gendry should have told her sooner. Even Sansa knew, all be damned! Even Sansa had known, and Arya hadn’t! It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all! They always left her out of everything…

Tears clouded her vision as she run up the stairs.

_Jon knew. Jon knew and he said nothing._

It had always been Jon and her, ever since she could remember. But no, now Jon had Sansa and everything was upside down.

“Arya, wait!”

She heard her brother’s heavy footsteps right behind her, but she was faster, so much faster. His pleas reached her ears too, but she wouldn’t stop, her heart pounding in her chest, her throat dry. No, she couldn’t stop. She hated him. She hated him so much.

_Traitor. A thousand times a traitor._

“Leave me alone!”

“Arya, wait!” Jon tried again, but she closed the door of her chambers in his nose.

And then she kicked one of her boots, lying there forgotten on the floor. Jon punched her door with the same rage, but she wouldn’t open. She would never let him. Ever, ever.

“So you’re a babe again?” he yelled, with a sarcastic laugh. “Fine. When you feel like a grown woman again just let me know.”

Oh, she would destroy his face. She would murder him!

She would… She would…

The tears didn’t let her see anymore.

“You treat me like a babe!” she screamed furiously at the dark door. “What do you expect? I’ve seen my share of horror too, Jon! I too have grown up, you know? Just because I wasn’t born again or something that doesn’t make me stupid!”

Silence.

She covered her mouth, trying to muffle a sob.

She felt like a whole age had passed between her stupid words and the never ending silence stretching between her and her brother.

Jon was her brother. He had always been her brother.

And he had betrayed her.

“Arya, please” he pleaded.

She felt trapped. Truly trapped. There was no way she could escape now. This – _this_ was it. She had fought for it every day. Avenge her brothers, her lady mother and her lord father. Save the ones who were left. Come home again.

_Home…_

But she loathed it now. She hated it with all her might, because everyone lied to her all the time as if she was just some stupid child. As if she was babe Rickon, too young to understand anything. But she was a woman grown. She was! She had faced death with her eyes wide open, without even flinching – or that was the version she liked to tell herself. She had lead their people to safety. She had lead their family to safety. And still they didn’t trust her.

“Arya”

“Oh, fuck it” she muttered, crushing her tears under her heavy fingers and cleaning her nose on her sleeve.

She forced her feet across her chambers, her hand shaking as she unlocked the door and let Jon in.

She was ready to spit all sorts of curses to his face. She was, she would swear she was.

And yet that face… They didn’t even look too much alike. And yet that frown, the gentleness in his eyes.

He reminded her so much of father. So much of a happier and simpler time. And Arya realised she couldn’t be mad at him for too long. Not when he held her tight against his chest, his strong arms curling around her. For Jon was her home, too, in a way. He was her brother, in every way that mattered. He would always be her big brother and she loved him with all her heart.

“I’m sorry” he muttered, his hand cradling the back of her head. “I know we should have trusted you, I know.”

She just nodded, all the rage in her heart gone.

But she wasn’t certain she wouldn’t strangle Gendry just yet.

“Gendry should have told me” she corrected, releasing her breath. “Not you.”

Jon chuckled, letting her go so he could look into her eyes.

“He was afraid, you realise that?”

Arya shrugged, looking at her feet.

“I don’t know why he feels like that, I gave him no reason to-“

Jon’s loud laughter interrupted her. She bumped her shoulder against his, but he didn’t even budge.

“Well, fine, maybe I have. Just a little bit” she conceded, sitting on her bed, her knees spread to let her head sink there.

She felt Jon’s arm surrounded her shoulder, pulling her to him.

“But this isn’t about him, is it?” he prodded.

Ugh, she hated it. Absolutely hated it when Jon could see right through her. Which was most of the time.

Arya shook her head, looking at her feet.

“It’s hard, uh?” Jon muttered, giving her arm a gentle squeeze.

“Hard? Hard is an understatement!” she almost roared. “I hate it! I wish I could be no one again.”

Jon sighed, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Aye, I wish I could be no one again too.”

“Why can’t people just manage themselves? Why do they need us?”

There was this pretty dream in her head. A world where she wasn’t a lady anymore, and Jon wasn’t king, and Gendry wasn’t the rightful heir to the throne. He wasn’t even a lord either. And they would all live in a big house, growing old together with a bunch of little wolves just like her niece surrounding them. Arya wearing breeches all day, without a care in the world, teaching the children how to catch cats.

No. No. That wasn’t her.

That definitely wasn’t her.

“Because some of them take advantage of the others and we are fortunate enough to have to power to prevent that” he explained, his frown back. “At least to some degree, that is.”

Arya nodded.

Well, everyone had to do things they didn’t particularly enjoy sometimes, hadn’t they?

Even Sansa. All proper and polite. Trained to be queen ever since she was born. Even Sansa seemed to loath her crown these. Arya only saw her sister happy – truly happy – with her daughter in her arms or her husband within sight.

“I’m sorry, I know sometimes I’m too harsh with you” Jon whispered. “But I’m still trying to find the best way to help you. Seven hells, most days I don’t even know what _I_ should do.”

Arya clutched Jon’s hand, as if it was her anchor.

“I’m so proud of you, Arya. I’m certain both father and your lady mother would be proud of you too.”

Tears filled her eyes, and she almost chocked him as she held him tight.

“Father would be proud of you too, Jon” she managed to say, thought her words sounded broken.

“In spite of me marrying his precious girl?” Jon tried to jest, but Arya knew better. She knew Jon would always feel like he had betrayed Lord Eddard’s trust on that matter.

“Well, you’re no Prince Aemon, but I guess you’re the closest she could ever get to that” Arya jested. “It’s just… It would mean a lot if you had a little more faith in me. I mean, I myself don’t believe I can do this, and if everyone else thinks I’m just as useless… Well, then, I don’t see what’s the point.”

Jon took a long breath.

“I know.” He sighed again. “Believe me, I know. When they named me king I- Seven hells, Arya, I was never supposed to be more than a bastard, you know?”

It was her turn to squeeze his hand.

She had been a little childish, she’d give her brother that. Times had been terribly difficult for them all. Not just her. A whole generation was gone and it was up for boys and girls, barely more than children, to take up the responsibilities left by their ancestors.

“You think father was a good lord?” Arya asked, a sad smile on her face as she realised the wicked way history was just a spinning wheel, turning and turning until they reached the same point over and over again.

Jon scratched his beard, freeing her from his embrace for a while.

“I think he was. Not perfect, no. That’s impossible” he declared, with a chuckle. “But his people loved him. They still do. They were eager to ride behind Ned Stark’s daughter.”

“And Ned Stark’s bastard” Arya added. “And he wasn’t supposed to be a lord either. That heavy burden was just trusted into his shoulders and did as best as he could.”

“I think one can hardly reach for more than that” Jon agreed, giving her a full smile this time as he stood up. “We have burdens of our own too. Just like everyone else. And I have matters to attend to. Some silly dispute about a couple of heads of cattle.”

Arya followed him. Just like she did, a million ages ago.

“Perhaps I can help!” 

* * *

 

She cleaned the sweat off her brow, her breathing ragged in her throat. Her back was dump, her hair sticking to her neck. His face was red, the muscles on his neck straining against his skin, and small drops, like tears but not quite, fell down his cheek.

This was good. This was great, actually.

This… They were good at this.

Not ruling. Not smiling. Not listening to other people’s complains – though that was her job and now and soon enough it would be his too, and she wasn’t that bad at it now, really.

“Do you need a rest?” she asked, a smug smirk on her face, resting her hands on her knees and doubling over, trying to catch her breath.

“Do you?” he teased, stretching his back. “I think I can handle another round, at least.”

She stood up straight again, looking him in the eye.

He was stronger now. Much had to do with his work. Much had to do with this sort of exercise. But Arya was certain a great deal of it had to do with their other activities.

“Well, I could go on forever” she spat, raising her stick over her head.

Gendry was slower than her, but he was fast nevertheless.

“I think we both know you can’t” he retorted, stopping her blow with his free hand, and for a brief second Arya wondered if he had broken some bones there. “You usually start complaining after the third time.”

This time Gendry’s stick hissed over her head, a heartbeat after she ducked to avoid the blow.

“Well, I complain the few times you can go that far!”

Gendry roared, trying a second blow. But his mind wasn’t in the right place, and Arya hit his knee, making him lose balance and fall to the floor. Soon enough she was straddling.

“Arya” he whispered through gritted teeth. “There’s people here.”

He was right. They were in the courtyard. But there was nothing unusual to see here.

Not yet, at least.

She shifted, and felt him harden between her thighs.

“I know, I’m not stupid” she spat, standing up and offering him her hand to help him. “But you are. Don’t ever lie to me again, Gendry.”

She was still cross at him. He hadn’t trust her. He had trusted strangers – well, fine, Jon and Ser Davos were hardly strangers to him, but Sansa? He had trusted them, and not her.

“I was afraid. I couldn’t lose you” he mumbled, waving his hands dismissively in the air, his eyes on some point behind her shoulder.

“You won’t” she said, and she was so certain it terrified her.

_That’s not me. That’s not me._

She hit him on the hip just to make sure.

“But you will if you don’t trust me.”

Arya tried to sound threatening. But as soon as they were inside again, she dragged him inside some empty room and climbed to his waist, determined to show him she never complained after the third time.

**Author's Note:**

> So? What do you think?


End file.
